


I Shut My Eyes And All The World Drops Dead (I Think I Made You Up Inside My Head)

by zahrawrites



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Hunter!Cas, M/M, Sam Knows, Shipper!Sam, djinn, fallen!cas, i don't really know how to tag this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-17 02:47:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3512324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zahrawrites/pseuds/zahrawrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Original AU idea by yamiaki96fanfic on Tumblr:<br/>Don’t imagine Cas being kidnapped by a Djinn.</p><p>Don’t imagine Sam being the one who goes inside his head to save him and finding that Cas’s dream world is living a normal life with Dean.</p><p>Don’t imagine them all hanging out and when Dean finally leaves them alone for five minutes Sam trying to explain to Cas that this isn’t real and Cas saying “I know.”</p><p>Don’t imagine Cas clinging to the Djinn Dean, begging Sam not to take him back.</p><p>Don’t imagine Cas waking up and Dean yelling at him for letting the Djinn get the drop on him.</p><p>Don’t imagine neither if them telling Dean what happened.</p><p>Don’t imagine the sadness Sam would see on Cas’s face everyday from then on and the pain when Dean goes home with random women.</p><p>Just don’t do it.</p><p>Title is from Mad Girl's Love Song by Sylvia Plath.</p><p>Also- I took liberties with what the Djinn was capable of and how Sam was able to share Castiel's dream world so it won't be exactly canon compliant. </p><p>As usual, constructive criticism and comments are always welcome.</p><p>Enjoy x</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Shut My Eyes And All The World Drops Dead (I Think I Made You Up Inside My Head)

The last thing Castiel saw before being submerged in darkness, was Dean's outstretched arm, mouth dropped open, yelling for him to _watch out!_

_..._

His human state requires him to sleep now. The longest any human has gone without sleep is 11 days. Castiel knows this. But even then, sometimes the brothers will find him in his corner of the bunker's library, pouring over books, researching with a cup of coffee or another sleep depriving stimulant by his side.

Then they'll convince him to go to sleep, drag him by his sleeve, and let him lean into them as they walk him to his assigned bedroom. And he does sleep, for a few hours at least before the nightmares start.

The nightmares scare him. They consist of falling, his wings shredding, his grace being painfully extracted, his life being taken.

He wakes up in a cold sweat but in the morning when Dean asks him what's wrong, he replies with the same _I'm fine_ and pads tiredly towards the coffee pot, the dark, hot liquid calling to him. He's learned that that's what you're supposed to do - say you're fine, even when you're not.

Today though, he wakes up thoroughly rested. It's a strange feeling, one that he welcomes and revels in so he keeps his eyes closed to obtain more of it. The sheet is pooled at his waist as usual and the room is warm. He can feel the sun rays from the window over the skin that now belongs to him. There's a distinct scent of freshly baked cookies in the air, which confuses him, but he overlooks it favour of the shifting beside him which catches his attention. Turning his head and opening his eyes reveals a very sleepy, slack-jawed Dean rolling over to snake an arm over Castiel's middle, mumbling something like _go back to sleep ... 'ts too early_ , and appearing to drift back to sleep.

It takes Castiel by surprise.

Dean is close enough to kiss. Castiel entertains the thought before Dean speaks.

"Did you have a nightmare again?" He asks, voice low, eyes still closed.

Castiel shakes his head.

"Don't lie to me, Cas." Dean says but his lips curve up and Cas it caught off guard by it for a minute because it's been an age since he's seen that smile.

"I swear." Castiel whispers into the quiet. His vessel's heart is beating ridiculously quickly and he weighs up the chances of him having a heart attack but Dean speaks again.

"Mrs Robinson from down the street sent some cookies." He says.

"Okay." Castiel chokes out because what else is he supposed to say? He doesn’t know any Mrs Robinson. Nor is he accustomed to sleeping in Dean’s bed.

The brothers have taught him well and he can't exactly recall last night so he should be doing the tests: the silver and the holy water... but he can't bring himself to move. He likes it here, it's comfortable and he feels safe.

He drags his eyes away from Dean to inspect the room. It's not all that different from Dean's room in the bunker.

Dean lets out a whine when Castiel tries to extract himself and just tightens his hold.

"Dean, I need to- relieve myself." He lies and hopes Dean does not see through it. Dean lets him go.

Castiel leaves the room closing the door quietly behind him. He takes a calming breath because that's something he has to do now- breathe. The hallway seems familiar, it's long and open and leads into a large living space, the left of which leads to a balcony, Castiel can see blue skies and adjacent skyscrapers from where he's standing. Off to the right, there's an island in the middle of a kitchen space with utensils hanging from its center. The space directly ahead of him is dedicated to couches placed in a circular formation, centered around a large, flat-screen TV. There are rectangular spaces built into the wall underneath where the TV’s bracketed on the wall; they have small electronic devices placed in the holes - Castiel assumes they're gaming stations and such.

All in all, everything is open planned and allows him to just _breathe_. The bunker is where the Winchesters have given him residence and he doesn't complain because it's somewhere, and Sam and Dean seem to enjoy it but this... _this_ is what makes Castiel feel... well it gives him an echo of what he used to be.

Powerful. 

 _Free_. 

It makes him happy. 

So engulfed is he in his thoughts that he almost flinches when Dean pads up behind him and slides strong arms around his waist and rests his chin on Castiel's shoulder.

"Did I do something wrong?" He asks, guilt slipping into his voice.

Castiel shakes his head.

Dean intertwines his hand in Cas' and tugs him towards the balcony. The doors slide open as they approach, obviously fitted with sensors. The breeze is a little cold on his skin but he can't keep his eyes off their joined hands.

Dean places his free arm on the railing and tightens his hold on Cas' hand with the other. He turns to Castiel with that same smile and Castiel has to wonder.

So he asks, "Are you happy?"

Dean gives him a strange look and pulls him in, sliding his arms around Cas' neck.

Castiel doesn't protest. He can feel Dean's fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, he leans into it. Judging by the smug grin on Dean's face, he assumes that's something he does.

"You make me happy." Dean murmurs in the space between them. They're still in their pajamas and it’s almost noon judging by the position of the sun in the sky but he’s not complaining.

"We don’t hunt?"

Dean gives him another strange look then shakes his head. "Gave it up after I got fixed."

Castiel’s face must have displayed confusion because Dean elaborates.

"From the Mark. I was- in a bad place." He averts his eyes. "Long story short, you saved me."

"How?" Castiel asks.

Dean pulls away laughing and it’s glorious to hear that sound out in the open. "The power of love." Castiel has heard Dean use that line before but as a joke. Right now, he can’t tell, because Dean’s eyes exude honesty.

"C’mon, let’s eat." Dean tugs him through their living space to the kitchen and seats him on the stool at the island.

"Where’s Sam?" Castiel asks, fiddling with the silver knife in front of him.

Dean places his palm against Castiel’s forehead, brows furrowed in confusion. "Hmm. It’s not a fever." Castiel brushes his hand off as gently as he can.

"I’m feeling fine, Dean." It isn’t a lie because, in fact, he feels fantastic. Happier.

Dean hums and goes back to cooking. Pancakes by the looks of it, Castiel notices.

"Sam’s at home, remember? With his wife." Dean checks back to see he has understood.

Castiel nods. "His wife is…"

"Jessica."

Castiel does not believe what he’s hearing. "Bu- but she’s-"

Dean turns around and leans back against the counter bracing his hands on the edge of the countertop.

"You called in a favour. Up there." Dean tilts his head skywards. "When they kicked you out-" the scorn seeps into his sentence. "-they gave you a-... a consolation prize. You let me choose and I asked for Sammy's happiness. They gave him Jess back. All parts in working order."

"Oh." Castiel says. It is not unlike him to offer Dean that. In fact, it is very much like him. Of course, Castiel would have offered it to Dean. Regardless, he is content with the decision that was made. Sam, too, deserves happiness.

Dean makes pancakes. Apparently, it is his favourite breakfast. Castiel watches and thinks.

When Dean reaches up onto the top shelf, his shirt sleeves ride up. There is no handprint on his left shoulder. No claim. No marking. No remnant of Castiel ever having retrieved him from Hell. No _profound bond_. He doesn’t understand.

The last thing Castiel remembers is Dean’s worried expression.

They had been hunting Djinn.

This is not real.

Truthfully, he has known from the moment he woke. But he doesn't want to accept it. Can’t. He pushes the doubt down inside him and padlocks it because he selfishly wants this, now.

There’s an itch on the inside of his right wrist, he scratches at it absently while his gaze tracks over Dean; who alternates between swaying lightly or bobbing his head or singing with the music playing from the radio, a smile is thrown in Castiel’s direction every so often, a hand caressed gently around his shoulder as Dean goes to the fridge, a kiss pressed to his cheek on the way back and Castiel’s heart swells with the affection that Dean gives so openly to him.

It is no secret that Castiel feels… _love_ seems too small. His thoughts are drawn to that moment when he stood at a shoreline millennia ago, and there were miles and miles of timeless possibility and chance and _life_ and if he were stood there now, in his mortal form, he knows, in comparison, it would have only felt some fraction of the way he feels about Dean. Just to stand in this man’s entire singular, sacrificial, fiercely protective glory is enough. He knows Enochian struggles to encompass it and there is barely enough language in the human dimension to try. He supposes some humans would compare it to staring into the sun. Castiel settles for that because there is a plate placed in front of him piled high with pancakes.

He looks up to Dean’s smiling face and can’t help but feel his lips curve upwards too. Dean appears pleased with his reaction and settles down to eat his own breakfast.

Castiel learns that he spends his days in the garden behind the building, grooming it, unearthing soil for planting brightly coloured flowers, which keeps all the neighbour's children entertained. He makes the parents laugh with dry humour, and tries to keep a smile on Dean’s face.

He’s content.

Happy.

He goes to bed receiving a passionate kiss to his lips, a quiet _l love_ you murmured into sweat slicked skin, heaving chests and Dean tucked into his side.

This routine goes on for days. Castiel settles in nicely, like this life was tailor made for him. The itching to the inside of his right wrist persists and he knows what it is, but he scratches it and moves on. Sometimes, Dean catches him scratching at it and pulls Castiel’s wrist to his lips to press comfortingly sweet kisses there to ease the irritation. Castiel pretends that Dean’s efforts have some effect.

A few days then turn into a few weeks before anything changes.

One day, he’s about to leave for the garden, when he opens the front door and is stopped in his tracks by six feet and four inches of human.

"Cas." Sam heaves, breathless. _His_ Sam.

Castiel takes in the sight of him but before he can speak, Dean speaks out from behind Castiel.

"Sammy!" Dean’s barely stepped out of the shower, he’s dressed but his hair is still wet. Sam looks slightly alarmed when Dean pulls him in for a hug. Then, he says something and Sam goes pale.

"Where’s Jess? I thought you guys were comin’ here together to see our apartment for the first time." Dean remarks, looking behind Sam while tugging his brother into the apartment.

"She had work. An emergency." Castiel answers before Sam can even open his mouth.

The younger Winchester throws him a look.

"Oh, well that sucks." Dean says, dejectedly. But he picks up when he drags Sam by the sleeve. "Dude, you gotta come see the balcony. It’s fricking amazing. I’m so glad Cas chose this apartment."

Castiel follows behind the brothers.

"Isn’t it fucking cool?" Dean asks, bracing himself on the railing and looking over the city below.

Sam nods, throwing Castiel a pointed glance.

"Dean, I’m sure Sam would like a beer."

"Oh, right. Yeah, of course, gimme a sec." Dean disappears through the double doors and Sam turns on Castiel.

"He isn’t real." He begins, pointing through the doors. "This isn’t real, you’re living in a dream world. You were attacked by the Djinn and they’re draining you right now. Cas, we have to-" His voice is frantic and panicked and Castiel knows what Sam wants.

"I know."

Sam falters. "Why haven’t you left then? You know how to."

Castiel indents his teeth into his bottom lip, guilt flooding into him. "I… I’m happy, Sam."

Sam looks at him incredulously. "But it’s _not real_."

Castiel wrings his fingers together. "Sam, your brother is happy here-"

"It’s not even him!"

"-he is unburdened. He is not drowning in remorse or guilt or sorrow." Castiel looks up at the younger Winchester, eyes wide with unshed tears. "He loves me here, Sam. He is unafraid to love me."

Sam runs a hand through his hair.

"And I’m allowed to love him. He lets me. You should see him in the mornings, the affection he shows is unparalleled and so openly given."

Sam sighs. "Cas, he’s not real. He doesn’t exist. This is happening inside your head. The real Dean is worried sick about you."

Human emotion is difficult. He does not want to cry, does not want to feel the ache in his heart. But his tears fall and Sam’s eyes are pitiful.

"You don’t understand, Sam."

"Yes, I do. You don’t think I want my brother to be-"

" _No_ , Sam." He says with such conviction that Sam does not finish his sentence. Castiel glances up at him while wiping at his face. He’s desperate so he says, "Jessica is alive here. They gave her back, you live together, and you’re married."

Sam does not reply, just averts his eyes so Castiel continues. "You rang Dean a few days ago, said Jessica was with child. _A little girl_. Can you imagine? You were ecstatic. You said you were going to name her-"

" _Stop_." Sam begs, his voice comes out croaky and he puts a fist up to his mouth in an attempt to calm himself. "Just stop, Cas. You know I want that more than anything-"

"So, stay. It’s a perfect situation." Castiel tries.

"And what about our Dean, out there? He’s alone, and we’re _literally_ hanging by our lives in front of his eyes, hoping we’ll come back." Sam retorts. Castiel’s hand goes to scratch at the inside of his right wrist again but Sam grabs the wrist before he can soothe the irritation.

"That itch you feel, you know what that is?" Sam asks him, but Castiel already knows so he lets Sam speak. "That’s where they’re draining your blood. There’s a needle inside your vein and when it shifts in the real world, you feel it here." He puts special weight on _real world_.

Castiel’s gaze flicks between his hand and Sam. "I don’t want to leave, Sam. I want to stay." His voice drops in volume, like he’s ashamed of admitting it.

"I know." Sam nods his head, understandingly. "But Dean needs you out there."

Castiel laughs bitterly. "We both know that’s not true."

"Cas, _please_."

That’s when Dean comes back holding three beers. He passes them around. Castiel stands beside him, shoulders and arms touching, hand wrapped around his bicep, clinging to Dean.

"Sam, _please_." Castiel reiterates. He hears so much desperation in the voice that he struggles to recognize that it even belongs to him. "Don’t make me go."

Sam shrugs helplessly. "You know what you have to do, Cas."

When Castiel glances at Dean, he’s just sipping at his bottle watching the birds fly overhead. He memorizes Dean the way he is now; tracks over his features, the cut of his jaw, the spread of his lashes, the plush of his lips, the broad sturdiness of his chest, the bow of his legs… He recalls the way Dean sighs into their kisses and the way he arches his back when Castiel brings him to the teetering edge of climax, the way his fingers grasp the sheets, and most importantly… the way he smiles, so carefree and untroubled.

When he turns to face Sam, the other man is already gone.

He knows what he has to do. Has known it for a while.

He forces himself to break away from Dean.

If he’s going out then he’s going out the way he came in. He puts his beer down on the floor and climbs up onto the ledge.

Dean shifts his attention to him and Castiel hears the growing shouts that turn into begging and screaming and _I love you_ ’s but he knows it’s not real. Dean only wants it, because _he_ wants Dean to want it.

He looks down at the city below. It is unlikely that he’ll even hit the ground; the rush of the fall from such a height should take him back.

His heart is thumping in his chest, the air up here is colder, and it’s like ice on his skin. It makes him nostalgic. Heaven felt like this sometimes. But he had his grace then, so he never had to worry about temperamental fluctuations of atmospheric pressure. He spreads his arms, ready to let go but all of a sudden he’s assaulted by a flood of emotion, he can still hear Dean in the background.

Regret.

_Cas!_

Love. 

_Don’t do this to me!_

Sorrow.

_Don’t leave me!_

Pain.

_Not again!_

He inhales deeply, steps forward…

_CAS!_

And flies.

 

-X-x-X-

 

Castiel knows he's back because he can feel that familiar fatigue that's settled in his bones.

He doesn't move. Not yet. Doesn't even shift.

There are people near him, he can hear their murmurs.

"I don't know what to tell you, Dean."

"How about the truth, Sam." He hears the deep rumble of the elder Winchester's voice reply.

There is no response from Sam but a scratch of clothing accompanied by a sigh that Castiel knows that Sam has shrugged his shoulders.

The quiet that settles in is strained and tense so Castiel breaks it by coughing lightly and sitting up. The Winchesters, attentive as ever, rush to his side. Dean passes him a cup of water that he drinks graciously from.

"How you feelin’?" Dean asks, sliding his palm down Castiel’s arm comfortingly - Castiel doesn’t think that Dean even realises how gently he does it - wandering gaze intent on making sure the former angel is not hurt.

"I’m fine." Castiel croaks, desperate to dissipate the crease of stress between Dean’s brows.

It works. Dean’s shoulders sag in relief. "Good." Then his expression changes to one of fierce worry. "Don’t ever do that again."

Castiel nods his affirmative.

Dean smiles and Castiel has to look away. His grip tightens and tightens around the glass in his hand until it shatters unexpectedly in his palm. He only realises that it does when the brothers flinch away, looking down at the mess he’s made. It seems that some of his draining Grace that allows superhuman strength still remains.

Dean grasps Castiel’s hands and shakes the glass out. Then, he helps Castiel manoeuvre to sit on the couch against the wall, careful not to let him step on any shards because he’s barefoot while Sam wraps the blanket in on itself to collect the glass and takes it out of the room. Castiel watches Dean retrieve the first aid kit from his bedside table and take his place beside Cas on the couch. He turns inwards and places the kit between them when Castiel mirrors his position. Pulling Castiel’s injured hands into his lap; he begins by unwrapping the blood-soaked bandages already there. This is the first time Castiel notices the bandages.

"Jesus Christ, Cas." Dean murmurs. His fingers work carefully and efficiently. When he pulls off the last layer, there are needle marks on the inside of his wrists.

"What happened to you?" He asks. Castiel thinks it’s to distract him from the pain.

"I… What do you mean?"

Dean’s eyes flick up to meet his. "When they got the drop on you? What was your dream world? ‘Cause I asked Sam but the little bitch won’t tell me."

Castiel doesn’t know what to say. He observes Dean; the flutter of his lashes, the cut of his jaw, the dip of his clavicle, the callouses on his fingers, the defined muscle in his biceps. He doubts. He does not think that this Dean will ever love him the way that the other Dean did. It makes him feel… sad. Like his lungs are being compressed and pushed down on and he doesn’t understand because he’s never really needed to breathe anyway. It is not a pleasant emotion.

He makes a decision. He cannot tell Dean otherwise risk losing their friendship too and that, Castiel thinks, is never worth risking. Not after last time. He regrets his alliance with Crowley, regrets that he did not come to Dean. But he had remembered Dean’s words.

 _When the time comes and you need help… don’t bother knocking_ Dean had said. And Castiel hadn’t, only to fall further into iniquity and fail Dean more gravely than he had ever imagined would be possible.

Then, Castiel remembers his own promise. Those last few moments before the monstrous souls had taken over.

_I’m going to find some way to redeem myself to you._

His feelings are one of those sins that Castiel should seek redemption for, he thinks he deserves to suffer for them. So he does not tell Dean. Instead, he says, "It was different. Jessica was alive." Castiel brings that up because perhaps it will distract Dean, and because he’s a coward. "Her and Sam were married, and expecting their first child."

Dean’s lips form an ‘O’ in understanding. "That’s probably why he didn’t wanna talk about it."

Castiel nods his affirmative. "Perhaps."

"And what about you?" Dean asks when he’s finished cleaning the bleeding wounds. Castiel thinks that misfortune enjoys his company more than it should.

He shrugs.

"What? No Mrs Castiel? No other half?" Dean teases. Castiel remains quiet and notes that Sam has been in the room for longer than he should have. The younger Winchester clears his throat to announce his presence. There is guilt littered on Dean’s face when he looks at his brother, like he’s been caught digging into a jar of forbidden cookies. He opens his mouth, presumably to apologise, but Sam beats him to it.

"I think I got most of the glass out, but you should probably sleep in one of the other rooms until I get it cleaned properly." He says.

"Thank you, Sam." There is more gravity to his thanks that Sam acknowledges by his replying nod.

 

-X-x-X-

 

The next few days pass without event, Castiel focuses on recovering from the blood loss. Sleeping is especially hard; in his dreams he is forced to re-live _that life_ because _that life_ is all he can think about, which is why he is awake at 3am on a Thursday morning. The wounds on his wrists have started bleeding again, through the bandages, but that could be a result of his thrashing around in his sleep.

He is drawn out of his thoughts by the footsteps outside his bedroom door.

With a lack of anything to occupy him, he submits to his curiosity and follows the sound to the bunkers living room.

It’s Dean. He pads around, clearing away papers and stacking books neatly into the centre of the table.

Castiel considers returning to his room because he’d prefer the dreams than facing this reality.

"Cas. What’re you doing awake?" Comes Dean’s concerned voice, just as he’s turning to leave.

Castiel regrets not moving faster. "I could ask you the same question." He replies, stepping further into the room.

Dean shrugs. "Couldn’t sleep so I thought I’d clean. I find it kinda… therapeutic." He finishes with slight shame. "And Sam leaves a fucking mess everywhere."

Castiel takes a seat on the couch.

"Lemme see your wrists."

Castiel displays them silently. Dean sits opposite him on the coffee table and takes Castiel’s hands in his own. Their knees touch. Dean’s hunched forward so much so that Castiel can see the freckles under his eyes so clearly that he could link them up to form the Aquarius constellation.

"Fuck. They’re bleeding a lot. What’re you doing to them?" He asks quietly as he brushes his thumbs gently over the bandages. "Lemme get more bandages."

Dean takes his time unwrapping the former angel’s wrists. Castiel can tell he wants to speak but he does not prompt him. Eventually, Dean does and Castiel _really_ regrets ever leaving his room.

"You never did tell me what happened to you." Dean says it like a question. Castiel knows what he’s referring to.

It’s so quiet in the bunker that the loudest thing in the room is the whirring of the machines in the computer room, three corridors away.

"There’s nothing to tell." Castiel whispers. He feels as if he would break something if he used his normal voice.

Dean looks up at him. His hands slow down to a stop and for half a moment Castiel thinks that he knows everything.

"I asked Sam. About Jess and stuff." He whispers too, but glances away before he says the next part. "He also said you were in a… a real bad place."

"I…" There’s a burning behind his eyelids. "I’m sorry. I- I didn’t want to leave, Dean." There is guilt and shame in his low voice and he feels like burying his face in his hands, but Dean is holding his wrists. "I just became… so _attached_ to the life."  _Attached to you_  he wants to add but he holds his tongue.

Dean nods understandingly. "It’s okay. It’s hard. I- I get it." He swallows and Castiel’s eyes track the bob of his throat. "When they got me a couple years back, I didn’t wanna leave either. Perfect life an’ all, y’know?"

They’re still whispering.

"Mom was alive, Sammy was marrying Jess, and it was great. We were happy." He shrugs. "I wasn’t right for a couple weeks after either."

They lapse into silence, each watching the other, and Dean’s close, _so close,_ and he hates it. Dean’s eyes flick down to his lips – Castiel doesn’t miss it – and then back up to his eyes.

Castiel knows this is a bad idea but he’s nostalgic for a life that never really existed.

Before he can let Dean press their lips together, he recalls his promise, pulls away and clears his throat. Dean licks his lips and averts his eyes dejectedly. He cleans and wraps Castiel’s wrists as carefully as ever.

They don’t speak.

When Dean is done, he stands, says _night Cas_ and leaves for his room; all without meeting Castiel’s eyes.

He never asks Castiel about it again.

And when Dean goes home with the attractive blonde the next week, or the curvaceous brunette a week and a half after that, or the fiery redhead four weeks _after that_ , Sam tries his hardest not to notice the sadness and pain in the ex-angel’s eyes.

He fails.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're interested, my Tumblr is [here](http://prettyboydean.tumblr.com)  
> Drop me a message, tell me what you thought - I'd really appreciate it :)


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